


The Right Road Home

by justdrifting



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1965654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdrifting/pseuds/justdrifting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, they find their way back to each other. Neither of them are entirely sure how it happens. She'll say it's fate. He'll say it's coincidence. They'll both smile and say whatever it is, they're glad for it. (AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Road Home

Somehow, they find their way back to each other. Neither of them are entirely sure how it happens. She’ll say it’s fate. He’ll say it’s coincidence. They’ll both smile and say whatever it is, they’re glad for it.   
  
They’ve been together for a couple of months now, just travelling around. They never stay in the one place for very long. If asked, both of them will say it’s because they want to see the world, but truthfully, they’re both still running away. She’d like to say she’s gotten over everything Nolan did to her and is ready to move on with her life, and he’d like to say he doesn’t still hear the sounds of guns ricocheting through his mind when he closes his eyes. They’d both like to say they’re glad for the Dollhouse and wouldn’t change a thing if they could. They both know they’d be lying.  
  
For all that though, they both know they’re all each other has, and they both know that means something. ‘Cause sometimes, when they’re in another dingy motel and the world is dark outside, he’ll wrap his arms around her and pull her close, and they’ll both feel like something in this world makes sense.  
  
“Tell me about home,” he says one day. They’re in the car, roof down, travelling across a deserted highway.   
  
She turns her head from the open road to face him. Her hair is loose, flowing in the wind. He thinks she looks something akin to a goddess, her hair glowing golden in the hot sun. “Home?” she asks.  
  
“You’re from Australia, aren’t you?” She nods her head slowly. “Tell me about it.”  
  
She grins, teeth flashing. “It’s not that different from here, really. I grew up in Sydney. It’s by the water and it has the most amazing harbour. I remember I used love going down to the quay and watching the boats. We lived in an apartment close to the city, just my parents and I, but we would go to my grandparents house in the holidays. They lived in Mudgee, a few ours out of Sydney. The town is tiny. I used to be allowed to go on long bushwalks by myself, and that’s when I saw all the animals. Kangaroos, echidnas, snakes, wombats… It was amazing.”  
  
He smiles and settles back in his seat as she talks on. He enjoys watching the way her face lights up as she talks of home; of a time before her life fell to pieces. She tells him of her childhood, of her mother and father, her grandma and grandpa, her millions of cousins. She speaks longingly of the feel of sand beneath her toes, the sparkle of the water, the smell of the eucalypts. She talks for hours and he listens, entranced by the sound of her voice and the tales of a land far away.   
  
The sun is setting in the sky when her voice eventually cuts off. Neither of them say anything, and when he looks at her, her face is once again turned to the road and her mouth is set in a hard line.  
  
“What happened?” he asks softly.   
  
“I grew up.” Her voice is harsh; bitter and angry. He looks over at her again, sees the tears she refuses to shed gathering in her eyes. He doesn’t know what to say, so he reaches out a hand and grips her palm. After a moment, he feels her squeezing back.  
  
“Do you ever want to go back? Back home?” he asks after awhile.   
  
She doesn’t say anything for a long time, and he’s determined not to look at her, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. “I don’t think it’s home anymore. It hasn’t felt like home in a long time.”  
  
“So what’s home, then?” he dares ask.  
  
She squeezes his hand again and flashes him a small smile. “I think I really like where I am at the moment.” She doesn’t continue, but he understands. He’s her home now, or the closest she has to one.   
  
They’re silent as they continue on down the road, but he’s acutely aware of her hand in his. They pull into the first motel they see. He keeps her hand in his as they enter, and when they eventually settle into bed and she instantly curls her body into his, he welcomes the feeling of  _right_  that settles over him, and he thinks he may have finally picked the right road home.


End file.
